Bloodhunt
by Spidey-phd
Summary: multi x-over. What happens when worlds collide? Spider-Man is the target of a manhunt of supernatural and extraterrestrial origins. Buffy meets someone who can relate. Dawn meets a guy who is out of this world. Etc.
1. Preface to Bloodhunt

**Bloodhunt******

**Summary**: What happens when worlds collide? Willow's tampering with the Hellmouth combined with Dawn's own this-will-all-seem-normal-to-you magic leads to interesting results. Forces of great power and a smorgasbord of sources are meeting up in the Big Apple for an event of historic proportions. Can a tired and bitter Slayer find someone with whom she has something in common? Will a framed Peter Parker survive a manhunt of super-natural and extraterrestrial origin? Most importantly, how hard will the girls complicate their respective men's lives when they have the opportunity to pool ideas?

**Sources and Disclaimer (Not Mine!)**: Spider-Man, the X-Men, the Hulk, etc. were all originally the sole property of Marvel but Columbia Pictures, 20th Century Fox, and Universal Pictures (in that order) produced the movies based on said characters. Buffy tVS and Smallville belong to WB. Any other characters that wonder on stage are probably not mine either.   L

**Desperate, pitiful plea:** This is my first big fanfic so I would really, really appreciate any feedback. Thanks to those who have already done so!!!   

**Finally: **On to the show!

_____ _____ _____

            _"Leaving the X-Dorks was the smartest thing I've ever done in my life."_ John Allardyce thought cheerfully, the lid of the Zippo lighter in his hand snapping open and closed in time with the Led Zepplin song going through his head. _"No more freaking rules. No more preaching about 'ethics' and using my powers for 'benefit of all mankind.' _He snorted at the memories of his time in Xavier's School. _"Now **there** is a good example of a group of self-righteous hypocrites. Hiding in a school while humans are attacking thousands of mutants all over the world. The only time they ever actually did something was when somebody showed up who actually had the balls to rock the boat. And the whole time claiming to be the good guys. What a load of crap. I can't believe how long I stayed there." _

            John turned out of the lighted hallway and started to make his way across one of the underground caverns which ran under Magneto's little island getaway. The sound of his footsteps echoed eerily in the darkened space and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. John, codename Pyro, had seen too many horror movies containing scenes similar to this to not feel a little nervous. The enclosing darkness. The amplified sound of water slowly dripping off in some unseen-corner. And he was alone and, without any flames to manipulate, defenseless.

            Something moved in the shadows. It was a quite, almost inaudible sound but enough to make his heart start pounding.

            _"No." _Pyro commanded his itching fingers, stopping them from producing the badly desired flame. _"I'm not going to fall for it again. I'm sick of her stupid mind games."_ In a gesture of defiance he snapped the lighter shut. "What do you want Mystique?"

            He didn't allow himself to relax, schooling his face into a study of indifference. Who knew what guise the shape-shifter would be wearing when she showed herself? She might appear like one of the soldiers who had attacked the mansion his last night there. Or she might look like one of his former teachers or classmates. She'd already proved that Freddy Krueger was within her capabilities. She could imiate anyone. Mystique might even come looking like Her again just to rile him. 

            Another sound came, this time from the opposite side of the cavern from the first. He tried to keep his movements lazy as he turned to regard the source. _"Did she really make that sound or did she throw something to make me look that way? Is she right behind me laughing at my stupidity?"_

            Anger began to replace his former fear. "Aren't you too old to be playing hide and seek?" he mocked with an emphasis on 'old.' He'd found out the previous week that the seemingly young and sensuous woman had been alive during the second world war and he thought it a great joke. Even his grandma wasn't that old.

            Another sound, close and right behind him caused Pyro to whirl around. "Son of a-" he yelped, backpedaling before he could stop himself. The shape-shifter looked like something out of a monster movie. Her normally chrome yellow eyes were even creepier than normal and seemed to be glowing with demonic light. Her sarcastic grin had been replaced by a jagged set of fangs and her facial features had been warped by a heavy brow ridge. 

            "Would you just knock it off!?" John demanded angrily. "It's not funny anymore."

            Mystique's smile only grew wider and she advanced closer in fluid, predatory movements.

            He steeled himself, hating the tremor in his chest. The same thing had happened when his older brother, Bill, had playfully threatened him with a knife when John was just a child. Both had known that Bill wouldn't really hurt him. But that hadn't made the sharp edge of the switchblade against his throat any less real or kept the fear from spiking into John's heart. But John had gotten his revenge in his own special way.

            He flicked the lighter open in memory. 

            The shape-shifter hesitated, glancing uncertainly over his shoulder.

            _"Yeah, right." _He smirked. _"Like I'm going to fall for that."_ "Draw?" he offered.

            The blow from behind sent his lighter skidding off into the darkness and sent pain spiking up from what felt like a dislocated shoulder.

            Pyro cradled his injured arm as he forced himself back to his feet from where he had fallen, a hiss of pain coming between his clenched teeth and his eyes blazing with fury. "That's it! I'm not taking any more of your…" he trailed off as a cascade of emotions swept across his face- Anger. Incomprehension. Understanding. And finally, fear.

            He swore softly under his breathe as he tried to back away from the advancing pairs of glowing eyes. _"Not Mystique. Definitely not Mystique."_ He stumbled on the uneven terrain but didn't go down. The smiles of his stalkers grew.

            _"How many?"_ he tried to calculate as he instinctively fell back on what he had learned in Cyclops' grueling lessons. _"Three in front of me. More in the cavern? More above? Lighter is gone. No weapons. I'm out in the open, without any sort of cover, with a hurt arm." _ The adrenaline flooding his system seemed to have slowed down time to an excruciating crawl. _"Gotta get help or I am so screwed."_ Taking a deep breathe he began to scream at the top of his lungs. "Help! Magneto! Mystique! Help! Anybody!"

            A dark feeling filled him, like a heavy rock settling at the bottom of a deep well, when his opponents began to laugh. It was the scariest, most inhuman sound he had ever heard. And it came from all around him.

            "Congratulations, Pyro." a man said from the darkness. His voice was smooth and deep, well-educated, rich with a foreign accent, and without mercy. "You've just been drafted for the new team in town. Welcome to my 'Brotherhood'." 

            John Allardyce had always hated the dark and cold. They both claimed him that night, silencing his scream of terror with ruthlessness efficiency.


	2. Bloodhunt1

            Christmas was fast approaching in New York City. A sharp breeze whipped the hard snow flakes around and around, stinging any exposed flesh. Pedestrians bustled to and fro with heads bowed and hands buried deep in their pockets. Shop fronts boasted bright lights and frosted windows. Santas roamed the streets and men armed with buckets and bells shivered in the cold, prompting passersby to remember the Christmas spirit and share their already tattered funds with others. 

            A red-faced mother laden with several packages rushed past, pulling impatiently on her son's arm. The boy was dragging his feet and staring in fascination at the dazzling displays of lights and toys.

            A young woman was also gazing into a window, but her attention was not fastened upon toys nor decorations. A small "Help Wanted" sign in the dirty window of a seedy-looking diner was signaling a possible escape from the dilemma in which she currently found herself.

            "You can do this, Dawn." she muttered to herself firmly. "Just walk in there and tell them you want the job. Nothing to it." She let out her breath slowly. "Okay." She squared her shoulders before striding confidently across into the Moondance cafe.

            The warm interior provided a welcome relief from the chill. The inside of the restaurant looked as decrepit as the outside, which made her wonder how the place had ever managed to pass inspection. The place reeked of grease, tobacco smoke and cheap coffee. Moving swiftly, Dawn traversed the busy room.

            "Where can I find the manager?" she asked the fat man behind the counter.

            "You're looking at him." he announced. He shouted toward the kitchen, "Hey, hurry up with order 35!" He turned back toward the girl. "What can I do for you?"

            "I'm Dawn Summers." She flashed him a bright smile and extended her hand. "I'm here about the job opening."

            He peered at the slight girl dubiously, ignoring the offered hand. "The law say you have to be over sixteen."

            Her smile momentarily wavered. "I'm old enough."

            "And I'm Saint Nick." He smirked. "Got any ID to back up your story?"

            "Not exactly." she flushed. "Someone stole my backpack and it had my stuff in it."

            "Uh, huh." His scruff-covered face came closer. "I don't have time for this." She tried to not visibly flinch from the reek of his breathe. "Go home." 

            "I can't." she blurted out before she could catch herself. "I mean, I really need this job. I'd work hard and everything. You wouldn't regret it." she promised.

            "Didn't you hear what I said? No." he growled. "No how. No way."

            She opened her mouth to try again but he cut her off with a shout. "End of discussion!" He pointed toward the door.

            Dawn nodded miserably and turned away. Her stomach grumbled loudly as she passed a big man noisily devouring a huge, greasy cheeseburger and a plate of fries drowning in a pool of ketchup. 

            She looked away from the table of food quickly.

            "Hey." A woman said gently, catching her arm.

            Dawn looked at the beautiful waitress through shining eyes. She roughly wiped the unshed tears away with her coat sleeve.

            The woman smiled, showing a perfect set of gleaming teeth. "Long day?"

            "Something like that." Dawn admitted.

            "I'm Mary Jane." The woman offered. Her head tossed a little as she spoke, causing her gleaming red mane of hair to sway. "I heard what Enrique said. Have you already eaten?"

            Dawn eyed her suspiciously. "I'm not hungry." she stated flatly. Waitress. It figured that she would try to get her to buy something.

            "Oh." Mary Jane looked disappointed. "A lady ordered a chicken sandwich and paid for it but had to run out before eating. We can't sell it now so it's just going to go into the trash."

            "Yeah?" Dawn snapped. "And you thought I looked like somebody who would eat leftovers?"

            "Not at all." The waitress smiled warmly. "But I can tell you're not from around here." She leaned in closer to whisper conspiratorially. "Enrique is a prick, but the food is good. Consider it a peace offering to improve your opinion of New York."

            The slender girl licked her lips. The heady aroma of food was making her stomach churn furiously. After a long moment, she smiled shyly. "Alright."

            "Good." Mary Jane guided her over to a corner booth. "And if Enrique tries to say anything, just say it's taken care of." She winked.

            Dawn smiled. "Okay."

            "Mary Jane!" Enrique shouted. "You ready to get back to work yet?"

            "Coming!" Mary Jane called back. She rolled her eyes. "Well, I gotta go. Tell me if you need anything." 

            "Thanks." Dawn said sincerely.

            "No problem." Mary Jane hurried off.

            Dawn gazed at the feast before her in rapture. Thick white slices of bread. A breaded chicken pattie. Crisp, green lettuce. Ripe, juicy slices of tomato. A small bag of potato chips. A tall glass of milk. 

            "I just died and went to heaven." she muttered. Hands trembling with eagerness, she raised the sandwich to her mouth and took a bite. A moan of pleasure threatened to escape past her lips. How long had it been since she'd had a real meal to eat? Sometimes it didn't seem fair. When those crazy monks were transforming her from a ball of mystic energy into a thinking, feeling human being why did they have to include things like a need to eat? 

            Dawn's resentful thoughts were forced aside by the pleasant task in which she currently found herself, however. She slowly devoured the meal, savoring each divine bite.

            Mary Jane glanced over occasionally as she moved around the restaurant taking orders and refilling coffee mugs. She grinned to herself at the expression upon the girl's face. Her own stomach was complaining about the forfeited meal but the skinny kid obviously needed the food more than she did. Besides, it might be good for her acting career if she lost a few more pounds.

            Dawn sighed contentedly as she leaned back from the vanquished banquet.

            Mary Jane reappeared at her side. "Everything okay?"

            "That was great." the girl stated. 

            "Any room left for dessert? Today's special is apple pie."

            Dawn looked down. "I don't know if I could eat another bite."

            Mary Jane laughed. "Baloney. A growing girl can out eat a boy anytime."

            "How much?" Dawn asked hesitantly.

            "Nothing." Mary Jane flashed her a bright smile. "Today's special- a free slice comes with each meal. Today only."

            "Okay then." Dawn brightened. "I'll see how hollow my legs are feeling."

            "That a girl." Mary Jane grinned. She moved off, taking two more orders before she was able to return with the pie. She left the desert and moved back to deliver another order.

            Dawn watched the woman work as she ate. Mary Jane was incredibly beautiful and turned several heads as she gracefully moved about the run-down diner. Dawn stifled a laugh as one man received a sharp kick in the shin from his wife for watching a little too closely. An old, static-riddled radio was playing Christmas music. Despite the Moondance's many faults, you couldn't argue that the old place had a casual, relaxing atmosphere. 

            Looking out the window, she could see that the artic wind had died down considerably. Big, fat snow flakes were lazily drifting earthward.  Pedestrians still moved briskly back and forth, but without the previous mad rush. The Christmas lights were softly glowing, muffled slightly by the falling snow.

            Dawn yawned widely. The good food and the warm air were making her drowsy. She was so tired. Her previous night's shelter had been a 24-hour Laundromat from which she had been expelled when the manager figured out that she wasn't really waiting for her laundry to finish. She yawned again. 

            Mary Jane poured the coffee carefully, spilling a only a small amount as she deftly avoided the sneering man's hands, a smile still obediently plastered to her face. 

            "Mary Jane." Enrique shouted in his grizzly-woken-up-from-his-nap voice.

            She fought back a groan. "Coming!" She took a side-trip past Dawn's booth. The girl was fast asleep, her arms pillowing her head and her mouth hanging open. Mary Jane quietly removed the empty plate and hurried toward the kitchen.

            "Table four says she didn't order cheese on her burger." Enrique growled.

            Mary Jane blinked "But she already ate it."

            He leaned closer. She struggled not to flinch from the stench of his breath. "She refuses to pay for something she didn't want. So it will be coming out of **your** pay check."

            Her eyes flashed dangerously. 

            "Got a problem with that?" he smirched.

            "No, sir." she ground out between clenched teeth.

******

            "Dawn, wake up."

            Dawn stirred dreamily underneath the hand that was trying to awaken her. She opened her eyes and gazed blearily upwards. "Will?" she murmured. She blinked to clear the sleep from her eyes. With clearer vision she was able to recognize the waitress leaning over her.

            "Rise and shine, sleepy-head." Mary Jane said with an understanding smile. 

            "How long was I out?" Dawn stretched. Her left arm had fallen asleep.

            "Over an hour." 

            "Whoa." 

            "That's what I said." Mary Jane held out a hand to help the girl to her feet. "My shift just got over."

            "So, you're headed home?" Dawn asked.

            "Yep." Mary Jane grinned. "Looks like another exciting evening in front of the TV for me. Yourself?"

            "Me?" Dawn's sleepy brain struggled to work. "I guess I'll be heading back to… my cousin's place. She lives here. Not here here, as in the restaurant, but close by. Really close by. I'll just walk there." Stop babbling, she mentally chided herself.

            "Okay." Mary Jane nodded. 

            Dawn followed the older woman toward the door. She shifted nervously from foot to foot as Mary Jane zipped up her coat and pulled on a pair of gloves. 

            The red-headed woman held the door open for her younger companion as they moved out into the cold. Dawn winced a little. Despite two shirts, a heavy sweater, and a coat, her California-accustomed body shivered from the chill. She huddled lower and watched her breath spread like a smoky cloud into the night.

            "You're all set?" Mary Jane asked.

            "Yeah." Dawn tried to sound confident. "I'm good to go. Never been better."

            "If your sure." Mary Jane didn't look convinced but wasn't going to push the issue. She eyed the skinny girl for a moment. Dawn refused to meet her gaze. Finally, Mary Jane nodded. "Have a Merry Christmas."

            "You, too." Dawn said.

            Mary Jane turned and began to walk away.

            Dawn opened her mouth, then shut it. She turned the opposite way and took a few steps before stopping and glancing back toward the other woman's retreating figure. She licked her lips nervously, glancing around her icy surroundings. A gust of the returning wind pierced her worn jeans and sent another shiver through her form. 

            The sleight girl turned and hurried after the red-head. "Mary Jane!" She called. "Mary Jane!"

            Mary Jane turned and waited for Dawn to reach her. The slight girl's ears and cheeks were already red from the cold. "Yeah?"

            Dawn looked nervously about. "Look, I, uh, kinda lied about the whole cousin thing." She hunched a little lower. "I don't know anyone in New York and someone really did steal my backpack."

            "Okay. So you don't have a place to crash tonight?"

            "Not exactly."

            "My place it is, then." Mary Jane put her arm through Dawn's in a very sisterly gesture. She urged the smaller girl forward. Jack Frost was having a field day with her exposed legs. "But on one condition."

            "What?" Dawn looked suspicious.

            "You have to do the whole "E.T. phone home" routine."

            "But I can't!" protested Dawn. "They'd come and take me back."

            "Would that be such a bad thing?" Mary Jane asked. She sounded sincerely concerned. "Do they abuse you or anything?"

            "No. Nothing like that." Dawn said. "It's just that… Things are better if I'm not there."

            "Bull." Mary Jane stated. "I don't believe that at all."

            "It's true." Dawn protested. "All I do is cause trouble."

            Mary Jane pulled her into the feeble shelter of a bus stop. "And your family complained about all of the problems you're responsible for? You do live with your family?"

            "Yeah, they're family." She had never realized to what extent that phrase was true. "And no, they haven't **said **anything. They would never actually admit how much trouble I am but I can tell."

**            "**Do they love you?"

            "Yeah." Dawn said softly.

            "What do you think they are doing right now?"

            Dawn could easily imagine what the Scooby gang would be doing. Giles would be stalwart and persistent in the search. Willow would be guilt-ridden and blaming herself. Xander and Spike would be pacing around, insulting each other, and racing off to investigate every lead. And Buffy? Her sister would be acting like a really pissed off Angorth demon and tearing everything apart to find her. Which is why she had fled to the other side of the states.

            Dawn looked at Mary Jane. "They'll be worried."

            "Probably freaked out and looking all over for you?" Mary Jane prompted.

            "Something like that."

            The bus was pulling to a stop.

            "How does this sound?" Mary Jane asked as they walked toward the slowing vehicle. "You don't necessarily have to go home immediately but you do have to call home and tell everyone you're okay."

            Dawn hesitated. Buffy was going to skin her alive if she ever caught up with her. Maybe literally. "Alright."

            "Good." Mary Jane smiled again, then climbed on the bus and dropped two tokens in the necessary slot.

            Dawn followed her slowly. What was she going to say to the gang? And why did the idea of hearing their voices sound so good even if they were going to be yelling at her?

******

            The parking level was nearly vacant of vehicles. Several sets of overhead lights were either broken or turned off, leaving large sections of concealing darkness- perfect for snatching a bite to eat on its way home from work or for private meetings.            

            "I have a message for Our Lord." The tall, elegant woman was almost invisible in the shadows.

            "Which is…?" The short, fat man prompted sarcastically.

            "I wish to deliver the message to him in person." she announced.

            He puffed on his cigar lazily, blowing out a cloud of noxious smoke. "Look here, girl. Your last 'vision' was a dud. You're lucky the boss didn't make you an example, if you know what I mean." 

            The woman grew even more pale. "I understand that. But I'm sure this time."

            "And you weren't last time?" he asked, the implication thick.

            "No. I mean, yes." she stuttered. She took a deep breath and shoved her hands deeper into her pockets to conceal their trembling. "What I have seen will provide Our Lord with power beyond his wildest fantasy."

            "I don't know." He drawled slowly. "I'd be willing to bet that the head man can dream up some pretty wild ones."

            The woman shifted nervously, licking dry lips. "Tell him that I know where he can find the Key, alone and unprotected."

            The cigar fell unnoticed to the ground. "Did you say the Key?" The casual slur had vanished from his voice.

            She nodded confidently. "It's here in New York. Without the Slayer and the others."

            "I kind of figured that part out when you said it was alone and unprotected." he muttered as he ground the cigar under his heel. He considered for a long moment before looking up. "If you're right, you are going to make the boss a very happy man."

            He stepped closer. The look on his face erasing any trace of a smile from her aristocratic features. "But if you're wrong, girl, you are going to pay the price."

            The woman flinched. She nodded slowly. "I understand."

*****

            Dawn was finally clean again. A long, hot soak in the tub and a pair of borrowed sweats left her feeling almost human again. Mary Jane had demonstrated her abilities as a hair dresser, claiming she'd been denied the opportunity previously because she was an only child. A cup of hot coco had finished thawing Dawn's insides nicely. And those insides now felt like they were full of little white mice on speed tumbling all over each other.

            Dawn hung up the phone part-way through the number. Again. Which made it six times she had attempted the call without making it past the first ring. Dawn closed her eyes and groaned.

            Mary Jane laughed cheerfully from her position on the shabby sofa. "You almost made it that time."

            "Yeah." Dawn snorted. She flashed a big, hopeful smile at the other woman. "Maybe I should try later?"

            "Uh, uh." Mary Jane shook her finger in friendly warning. "A deal is a deal. You've enjoyed my hospitality. Now you make the call."

            "Right." Dawn sighed. She picked the phone up again and dialed slowly. She almost hung up again before the last digit but Mary Jane cleared her throat pointedly. "Drill Sergeant." she muttered under her breath. A tentative push on the last button and it was too late.

            The phone rang once.

            Maybe it wasn't too late. She could still hang up. She could still-

            The phone rang twice.

            Dawn's hand were sweaty and trembling. The hot chocolate churning in her stomach was a big mistake. "_I'm going to spew. What am I going to say? What are they going to say? Argh!" she moaned mentally._

            The phone rang a third time.

            "Hi. This is Buffy Summers." Her sister said.

            "Hey, Sis. It's Dawn." she started to answer but the machine kept playing its recording.

            "We can't come to the phone right now but feel free to leave a message." There was a short pause. Buffy's voice sounded a little choked up when she continued. "And if this is Dawn, we love you and miss you. Come home, honey. Just… Just come home."

            Had her sister broke down at the end of the message?

            Dawn remained motionless, holding the phone to her ear with nerveless fingers. Finally realization of the significance of the beep filtered into her consciousness. "Hey. Uh, it's me, Dawn." She took a deep breath. "I'm just calling to let you guys know that I'm okay- no missing limbs or blood shortages or anything. I… Dang. I miss you guys. Take care. I'll call back later. Oh, and Buffy, I-" The machine beeped, cutting off the rest of her message. "Love you, too." She slowly hung up the phone.  

            The skinny girl stared blindly at the paint peeling off of one wall for several minutes. Her thoughts gradually returned from their soul-searching journey and she looked towards Mary Jane.

            "Well?" the other woman asked.

            Dawn smiled at the irony. "Nobody was home. I got the machine." She got up and moved to sit in the chair across from the sofa. A spring poked her through the fabric. 

            "What now?" Mary Jane asked.

            "I don't know." she confessed. "I'd counted on the money in my backpack to last until I could find a job. Now… I don't know. What do you think?"

            "Honestly, now isn't an easy time to find a job. All of the college and high school kids are on break and trying to make some money. A lot of people are trying to earn a few extra dollars to cover Christmas expenses. And you're what? A sophomore?"

            "A freshman."

            "You don't have any ID. Anyone that runs a background check is going to find out that one, you aren't sixteen and two, you're a run-away."

            Dawn sighed. "So, basically, I'm screwed."

            "Looks like it." Mary Jane agreed. "_If I can only make her see why she needs to go home."_

            Dawn growled, "And I thought getting out of California would be the hard part."

            "Not by a long shot." Mary Jane chuckled. "I've been trying for months to get a better job and I haven't had any luck."

            "Why are you working at that diner?"

            "It pays the bills." 

            "But what do you really want to do?" Dawn persisted.

            Mary Jane looked embarrassed but smiled. "Act. I've always dreamed about being an actress. I've taken dance lessons and singing lessons and speech lesson and acting lessons and every other type of lesson you can think of and more. Every extra cent I can get goes into lessons but so far nothing." She sighed. "Nobody is interested. I'm about ready to give up. I'm going to try to work my way through college. Maybe with a degree I can get a better job and someday… Someday I'll try again."

            "That sucks." Dawn sympathized.

            Mary Jane shrugged. "That's reality." 

            Someone knocked on the door.

            Mary Jane peered out the peep-hole. A brilliant smile lit her face. She opened the door to reveal a young man covered with snow bearing a casserole pot. "Peter!" she exclaimed. Ignoring the snow, she embraced him warmly.

            Peter smiled shyly. "Hey, MJ. How are you doing?"

            "I'm great." she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the room. "What are you doing out in this weather?"

            He held up the casserole dish as if it's presence hadn't already been obvious. "Aunt May told me to bring this by. I'm afraid it cooled down on the way here."

            "Thank you." she took the casserole. "Your aunt is so sweet."

            Peter smiled again. 

            Dawn regarded him carefully as Mary Jane moved to put the casserole in the oven to warm up. Normal height. A little on the skinny side. Quiet. Definitely a nerd. And even more definitely head-over-heels in love with Mary Jane.

            Mary Jane came back toward him. "Can you stay to eat with us?" she asked, her big blue eyes and full lips pleading.

            He tried to fight the attraction and leave, mentally chanting the same mantra he'd been using for the last three blocks. _Gotta go. Gotta go. Gotta go._ "Sure." his voice answered in rebellion. _"I'm a glutton for punishment,"_ he mentally moaned.

            She smiled at him again, sending the old feeling of warmth and longing soaring through his body. 

            "Uh, us?" he asked, breaking eye contact. 

            "I'm sorry." Mary Jane apologized. "Dawn, this is Peter. Dawn is spending a few days with me to keep me from getting too lonely."

            "Pleased to meet you." Dawn offered, standing up.

            "Likewise." he said. 

            "So, are you two like a thing?" Dawn asked bluntly.

            "No, just good friends." Peter said a little too quickly.

            Mary Jane's smile seemed to somehow fade, although her face didn't move at all.

            A moment of awkward silence hung in the air. 

            "Why don't we all sit down?" Mary Jane asked. "It will take a few minutes for the casserole to warm up."

            When they were all settled, Peter asked Dawn, "So, where are you from?"

            "How can everybody tell I'm not from around here?" Dawn asked, bewildered. "Do I have an accent or something?"

            "Not really." Mary Jane assured her. "But you do have a natural tan. That isn't exactly normal for the middle of winter around here."

            Peter smirked. "We usually just get two kinds around here in December- rare or extra crispy."

            "Oh." the girl considered that new info before answering. "I'm from California."

            "What part?" MJ asked.

            "The LA area." She didn't see any reason to lie about it. It wasn't like she hadn't already called home and blown her cover. Caller ID was a killer in today's society. Just try and call home from a prospective boyfriend's house when you're supposed to be studying and see if you don't have an angry Slayer pounding down the door five minutes later.

            The red headed woman's eyes lighted up. "Have you ever been to Hollywood?"

            Dawn didn't realize how deep she was digging herself in when she said she had been there, several times in fact.

            The rain of questions was fast and thick from that point on. Peter was the one who set the table and removed the casserole from the oven so that Mary Jane could continue with the interrogation. 

            The conversation shifted during dinner to allow the two old, east-coast friends to catch up and get to know their new friend from the west-coast a little better. The atmosphere was warm and playful, bittersweet to a girl so far from home and her own tight family.

            After dessert, bowls of creamy chocolate pudding, Peter smiled kindly and silently nodded toward Dawn. The tired girl's eyelids had grown increasingly heavy until she had finally admitted defeat and was dozing peacefully in her chair, her head lolling loosely on her shoulders.

            Mary Jane stifled a laugh. "That's twice today she's done that. I guess sleeping at the table is a Californian custom." She moved over toward the sleeping girl and shook her gently. "Dawn, come on. Let's get you to bed."

            "I'm not tired." Dawn complained sleepily even as she staggered to her feet and allowed the other woman to guide her down the hall. 

            As Peter watched them go the quite smile on his face slowly washed away and was replaced by an expression of infinite sadness. Easily and silently, with none of the awkwardness he had exhibited when the two women were present, he crossed the room and put his coat back on. He hesitated for a long moment, torn by the desire to remain and the rational voice which was telling him to get away and stay away before it was too late.

            Tonight had been an unexpected pleasure. No one else could make him feel the way Mary Jane did, could excite those feelings within him. Around her, he felt alive and whole and like he was somebody special. She made him want to be better, to be worthy of the trust in her eyes. 

            He loved her- heart, body, and soul. 

            He closed his eyes and whispered the words once again in an unheard farewell. "I will always be there to take care of you. I promise you that. You will always be safe." 

            He forced a self-mocking smile onto his face before turning to leave.

            "Peter?" Mary Jane called when she felt a cold draft. "Is somebody here?"

            No answer.

            "Peter?" She asked again as she moved toward the living room, the suspicion already growing into certainty.

            Her eyes narrowed when she discovered that her friend had indeed fled into the night. He had been avoiding her ever since Norman Osborn's funeral and deftly side-tracked any conversation that might require him to actually drop his precious little front and let someone see inside him for once.

            "I hate you, Peter Parker." she hissed between clenched teeth. She punched the couch in frustration, fighting the burning in her eyes. "You prick." She punched the couch again. "You jerk." Unmindful of the tenants below, she stomped across the floor and glared out the window. 

            Large, fat snowflakes drifted past lazily, unmindful of her singeing glare. A few pedestrians hurried past, probably running home to be with their families.

            Her breath caught in her throat and she pressed her face up against the window when she thought she saw a lithe, red-and-blue figure crouched upon the roof across the street. The cold window caught her exhaled breath and fogged over, blocking her vision. Almost frantic, she rubbed away the condensation with her shirt sleeve.

            If he had been upon the other roof, he was gone now.

            She sighed, letting the momentary exhilaration blow away, and whispered into the night, "I love you, Peter Parker. So what are you going to do about that?"

_______________________________________

            "Come on, Trisha." Jessica tugged on her friend's hand. "We'll just be a sec."

            Trisha glanced nervously back at the club. "But I told my dad we'd be waiting for him inside the club and he's going to be back any second."

            Michael's hand on her shoulder caused her to look up at him. He was tall and darkly handsome with a slight accent which served to make him a qualified exotic stud. He was also older than her, already a grad student at ESU. The most amazing thing was how he made her feel. When she was gazing into his eyes and he spoke she felt like she could trust him with anything. 

            His voice was smooth and kind. "If you really think that you should go back, you can. No one is making you come with us if you don't want to."

            And just like that she felt like she had somehow betrayed him in some unforgivable fashion. "I want to come." she reassured him. "I just promised my father…"

            "I'll tell you what." His eyes were so soft, so understanding. "How about if I promise to get you back before your dad gets to the club." He smiled at some inner joke. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

            Under his gaze, her doubts grew hazy and her desires to follow this wonderful, perfect man became all consuming. "Okay." she managed to breath out.

            His hand lightly brushed a strand of her long, red hair back behind her ear and paused at the back of her neck. She swallowed and licked her suddenly dry lips. His intense gaze flirted from her lips, down to her throat, then back to her face. 

            He was going to kiss her. She was sure of it. Her heart was pounding a mile-a-minute and her cheeks were flushed and she had never wanted anything more in her life. 

            He moved a little closer.

            She angled her head upward, eyes slowly closing, and it was an impossible dream come true. She, Trisha Anderson, the nobody who was never able to do anything right, was going be acting in one of the country's favorite soap opera's AND while celebrating she'd found the man of her dreams. She leaned forward, her hands pressing against Michael's hard, sculptured chest and she waited.

            He didn't kiss her.

            She slowly opened her eyes to find Michael looking over her head back toward the club. "Is it my dad?" she asked nervously.

            He smiled down at her, his eyes boring into her soul once again. "Don't worry about it."

            And, suddenly, she wasn't worried at all.

            His strong arm came around her and held her against him while they started walking forward once again. "We'll have to make it a quickie." Michael told the other man.

            Kevin looked back at his boss and grimaced, but nodded in understanding. He looked down at Jessica and smiled. "You hear that?"

            Her glazed eyes stared at him for a moment in incomprehension before slowly nodding.

            Kevin smirked and looked back at the other vampire. "How come you always get the live ones?"

            "I like a challenge." Michael smiled arrogantly. "The hunt should always be as enjoyable as the kill."

            "Whatever you say." Kevin answered. He guided Jessica toward the mouth of a nearby alley. The girl moved as if she were in a daze.

            Trisha's head lifted and her eyes momentarily cleared. "We… I need to go back to the club." she mumbled.

            "Shhh." Michael soothed her. He pulled up her chin until her eyes met his once again. "Forget about the club. You want to see what we have for you in the alley."

            For a moment the girl tried to fight him, and his respect for her grew even more. He leaned forward and allowed his lips to lightly brush hers. Her defenses crumbled and she pressed into him, wanting more. 

            He pulled back and shook his head. "Not yet. Not until we're in the alley."

            She offered no more resistance as they moved off the street and into the shadows.

_________________________________

            Tim Anderson felt his heart start to pound a little harder within his chest. "You think she just left?" he repeated. He pointed down at the picture. "You're sure it was this girl?"

            The guy shrugged. "I think so. It's not like there are a lot of girl's with hair like that running around. And when she's got a body like that one, well, she gets noticed. She just left a couple of minutes ago with some guy. Looked like they were going to have a good time together."

            Whatever Tim's normal reaction to someone talking about his daughter in such terms might have been, he was currently too preoccupied to reply. Instead, he rushed out the door, almost knocking over a few of the club's other patrons which didn't get out of his way quickly enough.

            Once on the sidewalk, he looked frantically up and down the street, cursing the stubborn streak which had prevented him from changing his overdue eyeglass subscription.

            It was Trisha's hair which allowed him to find her.

            A tall, dark-haired man had an arm around her shoulders but the top of her head stood out in the light of the street lamp like a bolt of crimson silk. 

            "Trisha!" he called.

            The couple slipped around the corner and disappeared from sight. 

            Tim cast a desperate glance over his shoulder. He'd parked the car on the opposite side of the club. By the time he retrieved it his daughter might be lost to him forever.

            He limped in pursuit of the momentary glimpse of the couple, hating the old hip injury for slowing him down and hating the weather for making him late to pick up his daughter.

            Trisha was still a small town girl. On top of that she was really a naturally sweet, innocent girl. She didn't understand how dangerous the big city could be. She really couldn't grasp how dark and evil some people could be.

            He'd sworn to her mother on her death bed that he would take care of their little girl. He wasn't perfect. He'd made some mistakes. But he loved his daughter and would do anything for her. 

            But willing and able aren't always the same thing.

________________________________________

            It felt like a dream, unreal and inconsequential. Trisha leaned into Michael's strong embrace and enjoyed the feeling of complete and absolute freedom. She didn't care anymore what anyone thought. It didn't matter if she was a good girl or not. It didn't matter. All that mattered was Michael and appeasing the aching need inside of her.

            It was that line of thought which sparked the resistance back to life within her breast once again. Because that wasn't how she thought, how she acted. It was foreign and, therefore, wrong.

            It was while that realization was slowly awakening her dulled senses that she noticed their breath. Like the steam puffing from an old locomotive, she and Jessica were marking their path with small clouds every time they exhaled. But Michael and Kevin weren't.

            It was like they weren't breathing at all.

            The haze was being burnt away from her brain at an ever increasing rate and Trisha was a very smart girl when she wanted to be.

            His hands. Her eyes narrowed as she remembered the feel of his hands upon her neck. So cold. His lips had been cold, too. She'd unconsciously attributed it to the weather but…

            Her mind was beginning to race.

            Michael looked down at his intended victim curiously. She was walking a little more carefully, not shuffling as much. She wasn't leaning into him anymore. And her heart was beginning to speed up. This wouldn't do at all.

            He reached down and gently pulled her head up so that he could see her eyes.

            His hand. Too cold.

            She jerked away from his grip and out of his embrace.

            He forced down the anger, keeping it where she couldn't see it. At least, not yet. "Is something wrong?" 

            She stared at him. At those kind, gentle eyes which were telling her everything was alright. She was just being foolish, acting like a frightened little girl. She could trust Michael. She could trust him with anything. His eyes were so beautiful. So hypnotizing.

            She yanked her head away so hard she fell in the snow. "Stay away from me."

            "Trisha." His voice was saturated with reason.

            "No." she tried to yell but it came out as a hoarse whisper. She scrambled backward, ignoring the various debris under the snow which was cutting into her hands. The pain was good, welcome. It kept her grounded in reality. "I don't know what you are but get out of my head."

            He threw back his head and laughed. "What are you talking about?"

            She used the brick wall of the alley to claw her way back to her feet, unmindful of her well cared for nails. "Just stay away." She tried to scramble out of the alley but he was too fast.

            He lifted her bodily up and slammed her into the wall. She gaped at the revealed demon. A heavy brow ridge and glowing, yellow eyes had swallowed his formerly handsome features. His mouth, the mouth that she had kissed just minutes before, was a jagged maw of fangs. 

            She tried to scream but only managed a breathless squeak. 

            The vampire's hideous eyes held her paralyzed as he leaned closer. "Sorry, sweetie." His tongue flicked against her throat. "I guess safe sex is just a myth after all."

            Her mind was screaming in hysterical fear but her body refused to respond.

            Sharp teeth penetrated her soft skin, sinking deep into her throat and allowing her blood to escape down the monster's hungry throat. 

            Trisha's eyes registered movement approaching from above at an incredibly fast speed. 

            When her mother had died, her father had held his young daughter in his arms and gently explained to Trisha that angels had come to take her mommy back to God. Her father had made it sound like a very special, joyous event when the angels come for you. So it was with a flicker of relief that she saw the shadow diving towards her from the heavens.

            But, apparently, God had decided to send one of his avenging angels this time.

            The vampire was ripped away from his prey and slammed into the opposing wall with enough force to knock a few bricks loose.

            Trisha's heaven-sent rescuer even managed to catch her before her head could hit the ground.

            Trisha struggled to focus her gaze upon the angel's face. Two silvery-white, reflective orbs concealed his eyes while a dark mask covered the rest of his face. "Who…?" she weakly gasped as he laid her gently on the snow-covered ground.

            "Spider-Man!" Michael howled in fury, unintentionally answering her question.

            "The one and only." the indicated super-hero responded cheerfully. He slid his hand under his shirt and removed a wooden stake. "Now, normally I'm really not into the whole undead division of crime fighting. But," he continued with all the charm of a car salesman as he began to circle the vampire. "Because we're such old friends, I'll cut you some slack this time."

            Kevin lunged from the darkness, attempting to blindside the wall-crawler from behind.

            "I'll even make it a two-for-one deal." Spider-Man didn't even bother to turn around, simply extending the stake backwards and allowing Kevin's own momentum to force the stake through his unbeating heart.

            The vampire exploded into a cloud of dust.

            "Next?" Spider-Man invited mockingly.

            Michael kicked a trashcan toward the masked man's head. With inhuman speed, the vampire darted after the improvised weapon, intending to catch the web-crawler with his guard down. He swung toward where he expected the other man's torso to be.

            But Spider-Man wasn't there.

            A booted foot slammed into the back of the vampire's head, propelling him face first to the ground.

            Spider-Man rushed forward only to be thrust back by a vicious kick from the vampire to his stomach.

            The vampire impossibly slid side-ways across the snow, body arcing and twisting as he moved. Defying gravity, Morbius rose into the air, glaring down at the other man. He spit out a mouthful of his own blood, his eyes glowing with unholy fury. "That was a very foolish act upon your part."

            "I seem to be doing that a lot lately." Spider-Man taunted. 

            The vampire reached into his coat with a cold smile. "You are a challenge, Spider-Man, but I always get what I want." The faint light penetrating the alley gleamed off of the well-cared for metal of the rising handgun. 

            "Cheap shot." Spider-Man called even as he threw himself to the side.

            But the gun barrel didn't follow the masked man, instead settling on a direct line with an already dazed and injured young girl.

            The gun shot, painfully amplified by the narrow confines of the alley, drowned out Spider-Man's scream of protest.

            The vampire shot skyward, twisting wildly to avoid the strands of webbing which tried to ensnare him. "I always get what I want," he laughed before streaking away.

            Spider-Man dropped down by the blond girl.

            The bullet had pierced her chest and blood from the new injury was rushing to join that from her neck wound. The anticoagulant injected by the vampire was preventing any chance the girl might have had of slowing the blood loss. She needed a blood transfusion and professional medical care and she needed it now. The roads were slick from the falling snow and it would take time for an ambulance to reach her. Time that she didn't have.

            He swore softly under his breath. Too slow again. He was always too slow. He should have been more careful. If he had kept Morbius down the first time… If he had dodged the kick… If he had placed the girl behind something instead of just setting her down in the open… The What Ifs raced through his mind in a screaming horde.

            Peter quickly yanked his glove off and felt for a pulse. At least her heart was beating. He yanked his mask off and placed his ear above her mouth. She wasn't breathing.

            _"I really should carry around some kind of protective breathing barrier for situations like this."_ he thought distractedly even as he tilted her head back and placed his mouth over hers. "_Even my spider powers won't keep me from getting a disease."_

            He breathed into her once. Twice. His powerful lungs pushing needed air into her lungs and ensuring that there was still oxygen in her system.

            _"Check for breathing."_ he told himself, placing his ear back over her mouth and counting silently to himself. _"Nothing."_

            More breathes. _"One breathe every five seconds. Twelve cycles  of breathing, then check again."_

            Part way through, the girl started to cough.

            Peter rolled her onto her side so that she wouldn't choke as the girl spit up some dark fluid. _"Please don't be blood." _he prayed.

            After a few moments, the girl's coughing subsided and she lay gasping for air. He carefully rolled her back onto her back. Her scarf lay abandoned near by, forgotten in the scuffle. Spider-enhanced strength ripped it into two. He gently but firmly pressed one make-shift bandage against her throat wound and the other against the chest injury. _"She needs a doctor. Not some kid who borrowed a book about first-aid from the library!"_ his mind raced. _"I can't do this and call 911 at the same time. And they could never get here in time. What do I do?"_               

            "I knew that today was too perfect." the girl gasped weakly. Her eyes were bright with pain, but she was alert and her eyes were focused upon him.

            He looked at her, the old rage flowing thickly through his veins. What do you tell her? I'm sorry? Pretend it isn't as bad as it is? He could bend steel with his bare hands but he couldn't do anything to help her. 

            She looked up at her rescuer, weighing his silence carefully. Something inside of her realized the import of his hesitation and she closed her eyes in resignation. "That bad, eh?"

            He had to clear his throat before he could speak. "No. You're going to be just fine."

            She opened her eyes and grinned up at him wryly. "Anybody ever told you that you're a terrible liar?" She tried to laugh but ended up gasping at the pain caused by the movement.

            "Just hold still," he told her. Judging from her breathing blood was obstructing her wind pipe or the bullet had pierced a lung. "_I not a surgeon!" _he mentally screamed. "_I don't even have EMT training. What am I supposed to do?"_

            Despite the pain and the trauma the girl kept her voice steady. "This is my first time to New York. Are vampire attacks a common thing here?" 

            He grimaced. "It happens more often than anyone will admit and it's getting worse."

            "Sounds like we need a few more super-heroes running around," she suggested.

            He shook his head. "Just more people to get involved period."

            She grinned impishly despite the pain. "But how many people look so good in spandex?" A fit of couching seized her and clenched a merciless fist around Peter's agonized heart.

            When she could breathe again, her eyes sought his. "You're a lot younger than I thought you'd be."

            Peter started, a moment of panic sweeping through him. Images flashed through his head of his aunt hospitalized and MJ dangling off a bridge because someone had found out who he was. But this wasn't the Goblin. Only a dying girl.

            And he felt guilt for feeling grateful, if only for one fleeting moment, that she was dying alone with him in this alley. That she would never have the opportunity to tell anyone who he was or what he looked like.

            "I'm sorry." he answered, hoping that she would never realize that there was a dual meaning in his words. 

            They regarded each other in the alley's dim light, a bleeding girl and an unmasked vigilante in one of those mystic moments in which time seems to stretch into eternity and words seem to be unnecessary.

            She was the one who broke the silence. "Mutant?" A simple, straightforward question without the usual malice, prejudice or disgust.

            "No." He shook his head. Reconsidering, "At least not exactly."

            She raised an eyebrow. "Run that by me again?"

            He grinned. "I wasn't born with the genes that allow me to run up walls and act like some kind of urban Tarzan. There was an accident- I got bit by this radio-active spider that was being used in an experiment in genetics- and I was somehow genetically… altered." he sought how to put into words his thoughts. "So I'm not a mutant by birth, but I guess I'm not really 100% _Homo sapien_ anymore. I'm part spider and part human." he shrugged. "Spider. Man."

            "Spider-man." Her gaze was becoming unfocused. "The masked crime-fighter. The infamous wall-crawler." She murmured. "The bookworm next door?"

            "Pretty much." He forced himself to smile back and sound cheerful. _"Alerted level of consciousness. Her speech is becoming slurred. Complexion is pale, gray/blue. Skin in cold. She isn't shivering anymore. Severe blood loss. She's probably sliding deeper into hypothermia and shock."_

            "What is your name?" Peter asked.

            Her eyes seemed to focus on him again. "Trisha Anderson."

            "Where are you from?" _"Keep her alert until… Until somebody comes. I don't know who but somebody has to come!"_

            "Kansas originally." She grinned weakly. "And don't say anything about me not being in Kansas anymore. I swear I'm going to kill the next person who rehashes that old joke." Her increasingly labored breathing was making it difficult for her to speak.

            "The thought never even crossed my mind." he promised her in mock innocence.

            "Right." Trisha snorted, which resulted in several moments of pain and weak coughing. When she could breathe again, she held up hand so that he could see the ring on her little finger more clearly. The gem was a strange, heart-shaped stone that he couldn't identify and which almost seemed to be glowing deep within its emerald depths. "My mom was from Smallville, the meteor capital of the world. She gave this to me before she died. It's made from a piece of the meteor." She smiled ruefully. "It was supposed to bring me good luck."

            She looked up at him determinedly. "I want you to have it."

            "Huh?" he asked disbelievingly. 

            "Take it." she directed him, holding her hand up so he could slip the ring off. "Maybe it will give you more luck than it has me." When he still hesitated, she insisted until he gave in.

            Peter slowly slid the ring off and slid it into his pocket before returning to his task of applying pressure to her wounds. "Thank you." he told her sincerely.

            She nodded weakly, closing her eyes. 

            A crash at the end of the alley caused her to open them again.

            "Trisha!" A man shouted frantically. "Are you in here? Trisha!"

            Peter looked down at her questioningly.

            "My father." she told him as she tried to lever herself up. Peter held her down.

            "Don't move." he warned her as he began to rise. "He's coming. Just wait."

            "You're leaving?" she asked, making it sound as if he were somehow abandoning her. She grabbed onto his shoulder as if she could physically prevent him from going. 

            "Morbius and all of his goons are still out there. If they aren't stopped more people will die. Some of them tonight. I have to go." he told her gently.

            She seemed to resist for a moment, clutching him tighter, before finally relaxing her hold. "Just make sure you get him, okay?"

            One corner of his mouth turned up and he nodded. "Okay."

            Her eyes gazed into his for a moment longer, full of pain and fear. "You won't forget me?" she softly begged. 

            And Peter felt the emotional dam inside tearing apart as eight months of heart-wrenching trauma were summed up in those four simple words. All of the thousands of people who he had tried to save, tried to somehow shelter from the darkness in the world. The nameless, faceless victims lost in the moaning crowd of the lost and overlooked. Women and children racked by sobs, tears pouring down their cheeks, but afraid to make a sound. Good men who were helpless against the monsters ripping away their families' little shelters. The stumbling, staggered ranks of the hopeless who moved onward only because they knew not what else to do. The victims. And all with the same plea in their hearts.

            "I will never forget you." His voice cracked on the vow. Tears coursed freely down his cheeks as he bent forward to press a kiss to her forehead. "Never." he swore fiercely.

            Her tear-filled eyes met his. A small smile touched her lips and she nodded.

            "Trisha!" Her father said, his tiny flashlight alighting upon his daughter lying on the ground.

            Peter slipped the mask back on, never averting his tear-streaked face from hers. He gently squeezed her hand before rising to his feet and turning toward her father. Still too emotional to speak, he regarded the man silently for a moment before leaping up onto the wall and climbing out of the alley.


	3. Bloodhunt2

            Trisha was undeniably a beautiful young woman. The only daughter of Tim Allen, she was his life. Ever since cancer had claimed her mother's life he had completely dedicated himself to raising his baby girl. A shy man with a good heart, he had often felt overwhelmed by the responsibility of being a single parent but Trisha had always quieted his doubts with a kiss on the cheek and a loving smile.

            But is was Trisha's absence which was tormenting him that chilly night. 

            Like the steam billowing out from the hood of an overheated car, his heavy breathing marked his path as he frantically tried to hurry down the icy street, seemingly slipping everywhere possible. *She promised to wait for me inside the club.* he moaned to himself. *She doesn't know what kind of trouble she can get into in the big city.*

            The loud sound of trashcans smashing into each other reached his ears. Several muffled thuds and a hair-raising snarl quickly followed.

            *Oh, God, please let her be alright.* he prayed as he tried to sprint forward. Without the stabilizing aid of the cane he had disdainfully left at home, he was unable to keep his balance and fell. His hip made a cracking noise upon impact and pain seemed to spike throughout his entire body. 

            _"Not now. Anytime but tonight."_ he begged. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself back to his feet and staggered over to the nearest wall. _"I can do this,"_ he mentally coached himself. _"For Trisha." _Carefully and at an excruciatingly slow pace, he worked his way to the corner by supporting as much of his weight as possible on the wall.

            Rounding the corner and entering the next street, he looked up to see a trashcan lying on its side in the street. It appeared to have rolled from an alley halfway down the block. _"Trisha is in there."_

            A shot rang out loud and clear on the cold night air in mocking verification of the location of his daughter.

            Tim sobbed as he dragged himself down the impossibly long distance from the alley. His body screamed in protest from the continued abuse. A little taunting voice in his head chortled in derision, _"You're too late. She's already gone. You let her down. You're too late."_

            After what seemed like an eternity of hellish torment, he finally reached the darkened alley. "Trisha?" He stared intently into the thick darkness, forced to stop to allow his eyes to adjust to the sudden absence of light. He took another tentative step forward, then another. 

            Reaching down quickly, he scooped up a stray brick and hefted it overhead before continuing his shuffling advance.

            A moan of pain came through the obscurity from somewhere in the alley.

            He stumbled against a trashcan, causing a loud crash which threatened to overwhelm his already taunt nerves.

            "Trisha?" his voice cracked. Trembled fiercely, Tim moved forward. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he removed his key chain. Trisha had lovingly teased him for years about how often his arthritis-ridden hands would drop the keys in the dark before he would finally find the right key. Finally, for his last birthday, she had presented him with a small penlight for his key chain. "Trisha?"

            A voice was whispering something too softly to be understandable. As Tim moved closer, the speaker, a dark figure crouching behind one overturned trashcan, slowly became visible. The speaker fell silent and turned his face away so that only his dark hair was visible. Keeping his face averted, the stranger pulled a red mask over his head.

            "Who are you?" Tim asked in a shaky voice.

            Two eerie, white orbs suddenly gleamed in the blackness as the masked man looked towards him. Tim could see the reflection of his own pale features and silver hair in the stranger's eyes. 

            Tim gaped in shock as the strange apparition.  

            The featureless eyes seemed to regard him for a moment before looking back down. Wordlessly, the stranger backed away and melding into the shadows. A soft scrambling sound filtered down from the high alley walls. 

            Tim looked up to see the dark figure momentarily peer down from overhead before disappearing from sight.

            A soft, choking sound brought his attention back to earth. "Daddy?" his daughter rasped.

            "Trisha!" he scrambled forward. 

            Her long, red hair, just like her mother's, was the first thing he saw. He dropped to his knees beside her. "Oh, Baby." he gasped. Her brand new outfit was torn and dirty. A series of parallel scratches ran almost from her ear to her chin. A splattered layer of blood covered his baby. The red liquid ran from a jagged wound in her neck, soaking her white shirt, matting her hair, and puddling around her head in a grotesque mockery of a halo. 

            "I'm okay." she vainly tried to reassure him. Her hand came up to grasp his. Her voice was strained and laced with gasps for air. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know you told us to wait by the club. But there was this cute guy and Jessica said we'd only be a minute." Tears streamed down her face and she choked. "But he was a monster. His face changed and he was drinking my blood and Jessica is dead, Daddy. She's dead and it's all my fault! I'm so sorry."

            Tim followed her gesture to see the dark outline of another slim figure sprawled awkwardly upon the alley floor a few feet away. "Hush, baby. It wasn't your fault." he tried to tell her but Trisha didn't seem to hear.

            "I tried to fight him but he was too strong." she clutched her father tighter, her blue eyes gazing sightlessly through him at some hideous memory. "He just laughed at me. I couldn't stop him."

            Tim stroked his daughter's head. "Isn't okay. It's over now. We just need to get you to a doctor." he tried to assure her.

            "I screamed but you didn't come." She coughed and red froth bubbled at the corner of her mouth. "And then Spider-Man…" she coughed again. Her voice was fading into a gurgling whisper that was impossible to understand.  Trisha gasped weakly for breath. "… And I saw Spider-Man's face, Daddy. I saw his face…" she trailed off.

            "Trisha?" he asked, panic stricken. "Trisha?" he shook her limp body but his daughter didn't respond. Tim pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head, his whole body shaking with sobs.

            Trisha was undeniably a beautiful young woman. The only daughter of Tim Allen, she was his life. 


End file.
